


Darkness Brings Evil Things

by QueenTzahra



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Introspection, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 05:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenTzahra/pseuds/QueenTzahra
Summary: Oh the reckoning begins... Awoken from an intense dream, or was it a nightmare? Captain Nemo reflects on the aftermath of the maelstrom, on loss, on his choices and of course, on Pierre Aronnax
Relationships: Pierre Aronnax/Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax/Captain Nemo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Darkness Brings Evil Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! Nice to see you, I hope everything's well.
> 
> So I feel I need to explain myself a little.
> 
> I'm supposed to be working on my NaNoWriMo project, which I am, I swear, but it is giving me absurd amounts of trouble. Basically I was totally unprepared for what i was trying to do, a bunch of stuff happened in my personal life and I'd much rather be on the Nautilus writing about my adventures. Also Mercury's been in retrograde. Anyway, I'm not making excuses, I'm still working hard, but on Monday night I was having sort of a rough time and wrote this oneshot more as catharsis than anything. I was conflicted about posting it because in some ways it feels way too personal, but you know what? No shame. I'll share.
> 
> Also let me say it's an absolute honor to be writing about Captain Nemo this intimately, even as catharsis. Especially as catharsis.
> 
> The title is from the song The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron, although truly their song The Night We Met is my AronNemo angst anthem. That whole album is phenomenal regardless, I've had it on repeat all week.
> 
> Okay, enough of this, story time!

Lips against a flushed, sweaty shoulder, kissing one of many red marks he'd sucked into bloom there a moment ago- or had it been days ago? Weeks? "Deeper," he heard, and he obliged with a soft moan, the heat and pressure making his head spin gloriously.

Hands spread across a chest, feeling a rapid heartbeat and shallow breath. Another hand reached clumsily over that bruised shoulder to stroke his hair. "Kiss me, please…" And he did, deeply and passionately, and suddenly all was soft light and steam and sensation. He couldn't wait any longer, he needed to-

Captain Nemo cried out and sat bold upright, suddenly and completely wide awake as though from a terrifying nightmare. He clutched his chest and gasped for breath, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs while his wide eyes darted about his stateroom, taking in the portraits, the electric lights, the clean lines. Their simplicity and familiarity were profoundly comforting, grounding even though he was groundless.

He kept taking deep breaths, getting his bearings by degrees and managing to regain some semblance of control over himself. However, as he did so, he became aware that his dream had left him just as flushed and sweaty as in the visions, and of course…

He looked hopelessly down between his spread legs, shame prickling unpleasantly at the back of his neck. He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his forehead upon them. If he'd stayed asleep a moment longer he'd have- in his sleep like a schoolboy. He shuddered. Thankfully his subconscious had awoken him, just as it always did when he had these dreams. It was a cruel game his mind played with him: sending him these memories, images and sensations, only to wake him up before they could come to fruition when he was totally unwilling to take action on his own behalf. It felt utterly wrong, taking any sort of pleasure in those memories now.

He gave another little shudder and took more deep breaths, doing his utmost to calm down. Even though he knew it was wrong, there was a part of him that was grateful for the dreams. It was a relief to feel something other than the grief and guilt that had numbed his body and soul since the night of the maelstrom. Or, more accurately, since the morning after, when he and his crew had found Ned Land, Conseil and Pierre Aronnax unaccounted for.

Nemo gave yet another shudder and curled up tighter in a totally pointless attempt to protect himself from the crushing weight of the memories. Then, suddenly unable to stand it, he leapt out of bed and paced about the room, his hands trembling violently. "Enough," he said, as firmly as he could. "Enough." Keeping his eyes averted from those in the portraits and from the door to the adjoining stateroom, he pulled a jacket over his nightclothes and made his way into the lounge.

It was dark, but the panels were open, and rays of moonlight danced on the calm surface of the water. He approached the panels and placed his hand upon the glass, the sensation cool and comforting, and he imagined the touch rippling out into the ocean. The ocean. His adopted country; his mother, father and partner; his life, freedom and vice. After all that had happened, it had seemed such an obvious choice to live this life, to take his power back from the society he detested, to have everyone he cared about who was still living on board the Nautilus with him, safe from harm. He'd thought he hadn't needed anything or anyone else. Then of course he'd met Pierre.

Nemo's chest constricted painfully around his throbbing heart and his eyes burned, but he shut them fiercely against the emotion. He hadn't asked Pierre for his word that he'd stay, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't hoped. Meeting someone who'd turned out to be so worth knowing that he'd let him, slowly but surely, into his mind and body and heart, only to lose him and not know what happened to him, was like a knife to his already battleworn soul. He told himself constantly that Pierre and his companions _had_ to be alive, because if they weren't it was his fault. He hadn't asked for their word. He had driven Pierre away with his behavior.

Nemo held his face in his hands, trying hard not to cry out. He'd often fantasized about Pierre returning, of him somehow running into the Nautilus again, of perhaps him even _looking_ for it, forgiving him and… But that wouldn't happen. Not with how things had ended between them. He'd brought it upon himself by lashing out, by not explaining himself or the situation fully, but of course that had never been an option to begin with. The only people who knew were dead or would die with The Nautilus, and that was how it had to be.

The hopelessness of it all welled up inside Nemo's chest, and he allowed himself the tiniest little moan of grief before turning away from the panels. He strode across the room, retrieved pen and paper from a shelf and turned on the electric lights, blinking against the sudden brightness and the more insistent burning in his eyes. The water outside was suddenly pitch black and impenetrable, but he could see clearly as he sat down and held his pen suspended above the paper. He'd started writing these letters at the suggestion of a crewman, once he'd gotten his head on straight after the maelstrom. It never completely assuaged the guilt and regret that held him constantly in a vice grip, but it at least made him less ashamed of his dreams and allowed him to express his remorse.

_Dear Pierre,_ he began. _I'm sorry, I saw fit to include you in my dreams again last night, but I won't say how._ The memories rushed back, and he knew instinctively that they'd been in the Mediterranean, by Santorini. His eyes filled with tears and he forced his mind to the task at hand. _We're back in the Pacific now, circling the Mariana Islands. We found this hydrothermal vent with the most incredible-_ Tears were splashing the page, smudging his words, but Nemo let them fall and kept writing, the words flowing from him in elegant French. He stayed there, writing page after page, until his words and his tears finally ebbed. With a shuddering breath, he finished the letter.

_I hope you're well._

_Love always,_

_Nemo._

He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the emptiness in his mind and heart. He then folded the letter into neat thirds, held it to his chest and returned to his stateroom. He thought, absurdly, of slipping it under the other door, but instead he tucked it away in one of his drawers with all the others. Maybe someday he'd find a way of sending them, or else sink them in a chest to the bottom of the sea, but for now he just returned to bed.

The emptiness inside him was a blessing, and he was barely aware of what he was doing as he pulled a pillow to his chest under the blankets. "Enough," he whispered as he closed his eyes. "Enough, please…"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> I think of comments and kudos when I summon my kekkai, leave me some!


End file.
